The streets were empty, but the weight of what he had done followed him like a shadow. It clung to him, suffocating, whispering in his ear as he passed darkened storefronts and empty alleyways.
He tried to drown out the thoughts, but they clawed at his mind. I killed someone. I actually killed someone.
But it was for Charmaine, he reminded himself over and over. It was the right thing to do. He deserved it. He could almost hear the demon's voice, smooth and reassuring in his mind.
A killer for a killer. And yet, the bile still rose in his throat every time the memory of the man's dying gasp resurfaced. The twisted satisfaction of the demon's mist still haunted him.
He reached the front door of their small house, standing there for a moment before he unlocked it with trembling fingers. The familiar creak of the door felt so foreign now as he stepped inside.
